


One, Two, Three

by Nathalaia



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, I Have Included Some Surprises, M/M, Other, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Yay For Surprises!, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathalaia/pseuds/Nathalaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overworking had its perks. Namely a very persuasive Zitao.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three

**Author's Note:**

> I’m trash.
> 
> But hello! I’ve been in a PWP mood lately (does that come with finally ‘debuting’ as a smut writer?), so I (again) challenged MegLee06 (my lovely beta <3) to challenge me with another PWP prompt, so. Hence. Here we are.
> 
> Right, anyway. This is a PWP, porn without plot, so do not expect all that much (especially because it’s only my fourth smut, third official/uploaded, and I’m a masochist, trying out uncommon things).
> 
> Word count: ~4.200  
> Warnings: Me.
> 
> Lastly, if you decide to give this fic a go, I hope you enjoy it (and the... surprises...)! <3

What met Yifan’s eyes when he stepped into the living room was Zitao’s form, lounged lazily on the couch, his gaze on the television showing one of the mindless dramas the younger liked to watch.

That wasn’t an uncommon sight; Zitao enjoyed passing time after work just relaxing on the sofa. What had Yifan pausing in the doorway, a word of greeting frozen on the tip of his tongue, was the other man’s attire. Usually, the younger would change into something more comfortable the moment he got back from work, if not _at_ work, something loose and worn like his favourite shirt and a pair of sweatpants. But that wasn’t the case tonight.

Zitao was wearing black, fitted leather pants, hugging perfect, strong thighs – and a nice ass, Yifan knew all too well – and calves, the fabric pulled taut over his crotch (that often drew Yifan’s gaze until the younger had to snap him back to attention, because Zitao had this sadistic habit of walking around scantily dressed when he was rock hard, showing off his impressive bulge, caring naught for Yifan’s peace of mind).

The younger’s torso was lean like the rest of him, elegant, deceptively fragile and soft looking (Yifan had watched enough performances to know that Zitao was anything but fragile), and the lack of a shirt left his skin bared to Yifan’s gaze. Including the ink that Yifan was so fond of on Zitao’s form. The tattoos on his tan skin gave him an edgier look, and coupled with the dark eyeliner framing his cat-like eyes, he was like a wet dream come true.

And he was Yifan’s.

“How come you’re still dressed up?” the older asked, finally moving from his spot by the door, dropping his briefcase on a chair as he went to work on undoing the buttons of his blazer.

“Hmm?” Zitao glanced over his shoulder, blinking adorably – a stark contrast to the kohl intensifying his eyes – up at Yifan. “You’re home.” A childish smile slid over his lips, then, and he sat up, rising from the couch to come stand in front of Yifan. The older man tried not to stare at the way his lack of clothing emphasised the movement of his muscles.

“Welcome back,” Zitao hummed, hands slapping away Yifan’s to finish what the older had started, tenderly pushing the blazer down his shoulders and off. He folded the material neatly and hung it over the back of the couch, before turning to face Yifan again.

“I didn’t feel like changing,” he said in reply to Yifan’s earlier question, shrugging his shoulders. Then he smiled again, draping his arms around Yifan’s neck and leaning in to peck the other’s lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t,” Yifan murmured, kissing soft lips again before adding, “I just wondered. You always change.”

Zitao hummed again, tilting his head, gaze following his finger as it moved from Yifan’s throat to the front of his trousers, stilling there as he looked back up. His smile curled in a playful smirk, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and Yifan swallowed dryly.

“It’s been a long time since it was just the two of us,” Zitao purred, a knee moving between Yifan’s legs to tease at his crotch.

“Wha-” Yifan started, but Zitao cut off him with his lips as he slowly walked Yifan backwards, back hitting a wall as Zitao sucked at his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. He locked their gazes, eyes playful, and Yifan was so fucked.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days,” Zitao murmured against his lips, hands coming up to work with undoing the buttons in Yifan’s dress shirt. “Getting home way past dinner time, skipping meals, no sex, and you even worked last weekend. It’s a cause of concern.”

Work had indeed been busy at Yifan’s office, and he knew it meant little time at home, and he lamented that. Even if it were important, it still took time away from his personal life.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but Zitao shook his head.

“It’s alright. Work’s busy. But you must think of your health, okay?” Zitao slid his hands down Yifan’s front, then up again, then down. “It’d make me feel better.”

“It won’t be demanding for long,” Yifan assured, leaning down to kiss along Zitao’s jaw. “I won’t have to go in much this weekend.”

Zitao hummed, and Yifan wasn’t sure if it were a satisfied hum or not, but Zitao dropped the topic and instead caught Yifan’s lips, kissing him insistently. His message was very clear to Yifan, though he knew Zitao wasn’t exactly hiding his intentions.

He could already feel the heat churning in his gut, the longing to be with Zitao after such a stretch at work leaving him to kiss back just as fiercely. But not here. If they were going to fuck, Yifan would prefer this time to be done properly. They could fuck against every available surface later, but right now, he wanted a bed.

His hands came up to cradle Zitao’s face, nipping at his bottom lip as he pulled away to mutter, “Bedroom.”

Zitao looked up at him with heavy eyes, some of the eyeliner already smudged around the edges, and Yifan couldn’t stop picturing how it would look later, how _wrecked_ the younger would be.

“Bedroom,” Zitao agreed in an exhale, and Yifan grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, the two stumbling through the kitchen and up the stairs with a few laughs and stolen kisses. Yifan closed the door behind them after they entered the bedroom, and then he was back to kissing Zitao, an arm snaking around his slim waist, one hand splayed on his lower back while the other gripped his jaw to tilt his head backwards, muffling the younger’s moan with his mouth.

Zitao was pressing his lower half into Yifan’s urgently, bucking his hips and working a knee between Yifan’s legs to tease his growing arousal, and Yifan could feel his playful grin against his lips and huffed into the kiss. His hands travelled down to grab Zitao’s thighs, and the younger had little warning before he was suddenly lifted up and dropped on the bed, bouncing on the mattress as he blinked. Yifan kneeled, settling over Zitao’s form with his hands on the mattress on either side of Zitao’s head.

He had wanted to kiss Zitao for a little longer, but as it was, the younger’s lips were already deliciously wet and swollen, and a nice flush covered his face and down the expanse of his chest. And he had yet to pay attention to the lines of black ink covering Zitao’s body.

If there were anything that Yifan could use hours on, it was Zitao’s tattoos. They were a mix of words, symbols, meaningful quotes that held a personal value to the man whose skin they were embedded in, spanning over his chest, the width of his shoulders, his neck and throat, his hips, and his thighs.

When Yifan had first laid eyes on Zitao at the club, the man had caught his attention immediately. With his sensual, cat-like movements and intense gaze, he performed on the stage, martial arts or dancing and stripping or both at once, muscles flexing under tan skin, sweat clinging to his body as he moved gracefully to the beat of the background music.

He had been, and was still, a commanding presence that had Yifan on his knees, wanting nothing more than to please the younger man.

Yifan had never thought himself to have a thing for tattoos, but then Zitao had sauntered into his life, and Yifan had found himself testing limits he hadn’t earlier thought he’d go beyond.

He dipped down to press his tongue against the words tattooed into the skin over Zitao’s heart, stretched from a few inches above his left nipple to his shoulder, meticulously written Mandarin in black ink.

**_世界_** **_对我来说没有不可能_ ** **_. 1_ **

Yifan had always respected the younger for his inner strength. The man may be easy to frighten with cockroaches (to be honest, Yifan was no better and probably screamed just as high-pitched as Zitao that one time, something the younger never let him live down), but when faced with life’s obstacles and tests, the man had an unfailing perseverance that Yifan both envied and admired; a will to get through and improve.

Hence, the quote that meant so much to Zitao. And Yifan also firmly believed that whatever Zitao put his heart into, nothing was impossible.

“Yifan.” Zitao’s voice broke through to Yifan, and he glanced up at the younger.

The other’s gaze was intense, burning with desire, but there was something else within the chocolaty depths, something softer, yet just as stormy. Because Zitao was one of the few who knew Yifan best. And the word held a note of question, letting Yifan decide for himself what he wanted.

Yifan held his gaze for a while, heart racing away beneath his ribcage, before Zitao read the answer in his expression. A slight smile slid over his lips, and then he broke their eye contact, twisting to find the bottle of lube they always kept in the top drawer in the bedside table.

Yifan busied himself with mouthing over Zitao’s skin, mapping out the ink with his lips and hands, blunt nails tracing the black lines forming symbols and patterns and words. Zitao’s body was a canvas, and Zitao had gone to great lengths to leave his soul bared within the marks, each one an extension of the younger man in one way or another. Just as wild, and just as beautiful.

His ears distantly caught the noise of the lube’s lid being popped open, and he bit into the junction between Zitao’s shoulder and neck, where a dark pattern of lines stretched across his skin like webs, pulling a surprised groan from his lover. His tongue darted out to soothe the bite, trailing up Zitao’s neck to his ear, where he nipped at the lobe and licked into the shell.

“That – _tickles_ ,” Zitao giggled, turning his head to try and escape from Yifan’s tongue. “Stop it. You’re ruining the mood.”

Yifan hummed, puffing hot air into Zitao’s ear and taking great delight in the younger’s squeak, before moving back down, peppering open mouthed kisses all over Zitao’s lean torso.

Zitao had gone exploring himself, too, hands running down Yifan’s back, squeezing his ass (Yifan yelped and glared as Zitao cackled) and trailing down his inner thighs, nothing but soft caresses.

And yet, Yifan knew there was more to it than just soft touches. These were assurances as much as they were queries, Zitao’s wordless way of making certain, which Yifan kind of liked, kind of hated.

“Tao,” Yifan grumbled into the younger’s neck, “get on with it or I will call –”

He hissed when Zitao’s palm fell on his ass cheek, the sound bouncing off the walls around them.When he leaned back, he met Zitao’s gaze, the younger’s eyes dancing with unconcealed mirth, and Yifan’s lips pulled down in something that could have been a pout, but which he would profusely deny. Yifan did not _pout._

But his breath hitched in his throat when Zitao’s nails scraped over his rim, teasingly, and he groaned, hiding his face against the younger’s neck.

He _hated_ it when Zitao deemed it necessary to be a fucking tease. Or so he told himself. Half-heartedly.

Zitao’s hand slid up Yifan’s side, up his neck, before grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of Yifan’s head and pulling him up from hiding. And as a finger pressed inside Yifan, just the tip, Zitao brought his lips down onto Yifan’s, kissing him headily as his finger disappeared into the other’s tight hole.

Yifan wanted to bury his face against something, but Zitao was adamant, eyes transfixed on Yifan’s expressions as he worked the older man open. And Zitao seemed to sense Yifan’s wish to hide, so he kissed him softly, murmuring the words against his lips, “Don’t look away. Look at me.”

If Yifan had not bitten down on his lip, he surely would have made some pitiful noise. Zitao’s tone held a shade of command, nothing too blatant, because this wasn’t about that. But it was _there_ , and Yifan would heed his every order.

He stiffened slightly when a second digit probed his entrance, but only let out a sigh through his nose when it entered him. Zitao’s hand soothed Yifan’s neck as he scissored his fingers inside him, proceeding slowly as Yifan’s breathing gradually got heavier.

Yifan partially hated this intimacy that would always occur when it was him being fucked, as though it were something special. It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. He wasn’t made of glass; he could take a cock in his ass, damn it. But on the other hand, he liked feeling taken care of, and Zitao was particularly good at that.

When a third finger joined the others, his mouth fell open in a breathy moan, drops of sweat starting to gather on his back and over his shoulders, hands fisting in the sheets and a grimace falling over his face at the slight burn in the stretch. It left quickly, though, Zitao taking great care of making sure he wasn’t uncomfortable.

Zitao shifted under him, before his hand eventually fell from Yifan’s neck, arm locking around his middle as he moved to sit up. He held Yifan against him through it all, fingers still buried inside the older, and a quiet gasp left Yifan when the move caused the digits to twist.

With no sheets in reach, Yifan’s hands ended up on Zitao’s back, one sliding up to grab at his neck as he surged in to kiss the younger, needing the distraction. Zitao’s mouth was pliant, letting Yifan dominate the kiss as Zitao dominated his body.

“ _Yifan,_ ” Zitao breathed the moment the older retreated enough for him to speak, and Yifan might have keened when Zitao’s fingers curled inside him, tips tracing his sweet spot.

He pressed his face against Zitao’s neck again, heaving, tongue darting out to have a taste at the salty skin. “ _Please._ ”

“You want me?” Zitao teased, curling his fingers again and Yifan tensed, cursing Zitao in his head as he pressed down against the digits, wanting them _deeper_.

Fingers weren’t enough at this point.

“I’ll let you have me,” Zitao hummed, resting his chin on Yifan’s shoulder, “if you ask for me.”

Zitao had a knack for making Yifan both love and hate him.

“Please,” he repeated, the word breathless and desperate, and he whimpered when Zitao’s fingers left him. “Fucking –”

Zitao cut him off with his lips, and with one swift thrust slid inside Yifan, swallowing the elder’s broken moan. His hands came to rest on Yifan’s hips, holding him close as he adjusted to the stretch. Yifan was breathing harshly into his skin, hands clinging to his shoulders, which would undoubtedly leave marks. Though he knew Zitao enjoyed that, happy to wear any type of mark given.

When Yifan felt comfortable enough, he lifted his hips and sank down again, moaning lowly. Zitao gripped his hips tighter, bucking up to meet Yifan halfway.

Yifan scarcely used his voice when he was bottoming, and Zitao knew that, no matter what Yifan otherwise claimed, it was because the older was extremely self-conscious when he let others take charge. He would bite his lips to stop noises from escaping, or muffle them against his own or someone else’s skin. It took a lot of coaxing to make him look up, least of all make eye contact, and Zitao wasn’t sure if it were because Yifan felt embarrassed or because he feared the facial expressions he’d make.

For Yifan, letting others take charge wasn’t easy, as Zitao had quickly come to learn. It made him feel too vulnerable, made him feel too bared for his partner. And yet here he was, letting Zitao take whatever he wanted of him.

Giving up control was Yifan’s way of telling someone they had his complete trust. And Zitao would never, ever, abuse it.

But he liked to explore the limits.

“Look at me,” he said, a command thinly veiled as a request, and it took a few seconds, but then Yifan looked at him, pupils blown and lips parted. Zitao angled his next thrust, his cock grazing Yifan’s prostate, and the older screwed his eyes shut as he bit into his fist.

“Yifan,” Zitao demanded, and Yifan’s eyes opened instantly, finding the younger’s gaze and holding it even as his body trembled with pleasure. Zitao smiled, thumbs rubbing circles into Yifan’s hipbones. “Good. Don’t look away.”

He found Yifan’s hands, entwining their fingers and placing them back on Yifan’s hips.

“I want to hear you,” Zitao said softly, holding Yifan still as he ground against the elder’s hips in slow, sensual thrusts. “Please. I want you to look at me, and I want to hear you.” He leaned in to brush his lips against Yifan’s, eyes half-lidded as he looked at the other. “Please?”

Yifan nodded, releasing a slow breath as Zitao canted his hips again, harder this time, burying his cock deep inside Yifan. Zitao smiled again, leaning in once more to kiss Yifan languidly, following the pace of their hips. Leisurely, intimately.

Zitao sought out his partner’s prostate with every thrust, swallowing the elder’s low moans and grunts, stealing the breath from his mouth with his kisses as he fucked into him.

Gripping one of Yifan’s hands tightly, he moved both his own and Yifan’s hand to Yifan’s cock, coaxing Yifan to stroke himself with one hand over his. Yifan whined at the extra stimulation, but worked his fist up and down as best he could, Zitao’s hand guiding him when he lost his rhythm.

Yifan wanted to hide, breaking away from Zitao’s kiss to take a shaky gulp of air, but he didn’t, because Zitao had asked him not to, and Yifan wanted to please him. And though he kept his voice quiet, he tried not to hold back as Zitao fucked into him, hitting his prostate with every thrust, taking Yifan to the point of release.

Yifan was familiar with all of Zitao’s tells, so when Zitao’s breathing got laboured, eyes pressing tightly together, Yifan knew he was close. He just needed a bit more, and Yifan wanted to be the one to provide it, wanted to be the one who made Zitao feel good. So he pressed down, clenching around Zitao’s cock, and the choked moan that left Zitao made Yifan feel smug and satisfied.

He kept at it, enjoyed watching Zitao’s face, lips parted and small breaths leaving him, eyes mostly closed as he chased his end. And it wasn’t long before Zitao was coming with a groan inside Yifan, cock buried to the hilt as he emptied himself.

Then it was only a matter of a few deft strokes of Zitao’s hand, knocking away Yifan’s fingers to take over, before Yifan met his end, as well, pressing down onto Zitao’s cock to stimulate his prostate as he painted their chests white. Zitao continued to move his fist, pumping him through the orgasm until Yifan’s body was writhing in over-stimulation.

When Yifan was completely spent, Zitao’s arms locked around him, and then he let them both fall down on the bed, where he carefully slipped out of Yifan. His chest was heaving when he settled on his back, his hand falling to his forehead as he sighed. Yifan stretched, grumbling silently at the thought of his body being sore tomorrow, though they hadn’t gone as hard as they could have done. There had been much more _enthusiastic_ times that left Yifan aching for days, but this wasn’t one of those times.

“How are you feeling?” Zitao asked softly, turning to lie on his side, chin in his palm as his gaze roamed Yifan’s body before meeting his eyes. Always the concerned one.

Yifan snorted, then sighed. “I’m feeling good. Content. But tired.”

Zitao smiled gently. “Good. That was my intention.”

Yifan sent him an unimpressed stare, before he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. “Don’t move. I’m not sleeping like this.”

He went to retrieve some napkins, cleaning himself in the bathroom before returning to Zitao to scrub away the remains of come on his torso. He couldn’t help but let his fingers linger a few minutes once Zitao was cleaned, tracing the black lines on the younger man’s body, and his eyes began to droop from Yifan’s touches. Next time, Yifan would spend a little more time on these, but he understood that this particular night had been for him, and not Zitao, though the younger had thoroughly enjoyed himself.

Later, when Yifan had returned to bed, Zitao snuggled against Yifan’s chest, sighing contentedly against the skin. Yifan held him close, breathing in his scent as he kissed his shoulders and neck, and then his lips, lightly. Tiredly.

Eventually, they fell asleep to the rhythm of each other’s breath, snuggled close.

o

Yifan was roused from his slumber by the sound of footsteps, treading carefully over the carpeted floor. Only when the bed dipped with the added weight did he open his eyes and look up with a drowsy gaze at the hardly dressed, blond-haired man, who was looking down at him with an amused look in those brown eyes framed with black kohl. He was in the middle of shrugging off his leather jacket, gradually unveiling a bare chest and inked patterns and words on his neck and throat, and shoulder. His smile had his dimple on full display, and even through the haze of sleep, Yifan caught the playfulness of the expression.

“This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he mumbled into the pillow, narrowing his eyes at the grin that lit up the other’s face.

“I thought you needed a good fuck,” Yixing replied cheerfully, before his gaze softened and he carded his fingers through Yifan’s hair. “We’ve been concerned that you’re overworking yourself. You’ve been getting home later and later the past days. Yesterday, when I got home at _two in the morning_ , you were still not asleep, and you were gone when Zitao woke up the next morning. How much did you sleep?”

Yifan grumbled for a bit, before reluctantly answering, “Four hours.”

“See?” Yixing pouted down at him. “If you didn’t have us, I bet you’d forget to sleep, and then you’d forget to eat, and then you’d die a horrible death, and oh God -”

Yifan buried his face in the pillow, groaning. “Go take a shower, and then come to bed. You’re keeping me from _sleep_ with your fussing.”

There was a huff from the younger, but then Yixing ruffled his hair and left for the bathroom. It took another fifteen minutes – or so Yifan reckoned; he was pretty sure he dozed off for a bit – before Yixing returned, fresh and clean and dressed only in boxers that didn’t cover the tattoo on his hip.

Yifan didn’t understand Yixing’s fondness of dressing as light as possible, like he had earlier, consisting of only a leather jacket and tight, black pants, and maybe socks, if he felt like it. But he didn’t complain. Not really.

“XingXing’s home?” Zitao’s drowsy voice sounded at the sound of the bathroom door closing, and Yixing chuckled before walking around the bed to lean down and kiss Zitao’s lightly.

“I’m home,” he hummed, “and I’m tired, so make space, lazy asses.”

Yifan rolled a bit, pulling Zitao with him, and then Yixing lay down at Zitao’s side, getting under the covers and reaching out to ruffle Zitao’s hair.

“Did you fuck our lover good, Taozi?” Yixing smiled, and Zitao grinned whilst Yifan groaned.

“I did,” Zitao answered happily, and Yixing laughed and patted Zitao’s head.

“Good. He needed it.” He tilted his head and sent them both a pointed stare. “And he’s going to need a lot more rest, if I have any say in it. I’m joining next time, whether you are well-rested or not.”

Yifan mumbled something along the lines of _insatiable_ into his pillow, but Yixing paid him no mind.

Turning his eyes back to Zitao, he caressed the younger’s cheek. “Now, go back to sleep. I’m sorry we woke you.”

Zitao hummed, muttering, “It’s okay,” as he buried his face against Yixing’s chest and settled back down. Yixing smiled softly, looking up to meet Yifan’s fond gaze.

“Welcome home,” the older breathed, and Yixing’s smile widened as he leaned forward to peck Yifan’s lips.

“Thank you.” He lay down, holding Zitao with one arm and reaching for Yifan with the other, melting into the hold as naturally as breathing. “Goodnight, FanFan.”

“Goodnight, Xing.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Shìjiè duì wǒ lái shuō méiyǒu bù kěnéng. The quote Zitao has used before, "For me, nothing in this world is impossible."
> 
> *Peeks around the corner of a giant rock* … Oh. You read?
> 
> … Surprise! x2!
> 
> I have seen fanfics where bottom!Yifan has been a warning in itself, and while I respect that some people cannot see him as bottom (it was hella difficult to write, too), I do not at all deem it necessary to have it as a warning. He can bottom as much as anyone can.
> 
> … And yes. That is Yixing. And yes, this is polygamy (not married, though, ehe). I hope you were surprised? Though I gave a few hints along the way (the title is one giant hint flashing neon). And if you prefer Taoris with no Yixing in the mix, feel free to ignore the last scene!
> 
> If you happened to like the little surprise that is Yixing, however, let me give some details: Yixing and Zitao are strippers at a club, that Yifan (a professor or detective) one day is so (un)fortunate to visit. Zitao captures his interest, though he doesn’t know Zitao is taken – but Yixing doesn’t mind. Cue Zitao and Yixing seducing him. Yay! And with that said, I am planning on writing about how they got together. Eventually. Sometime. 
> 
> If you have questions, ask away and I’ll answer. Also, if you catch any typos neither Meg nor I have caught, or have other forms of constructive critique, please let me know so I can edit and improve my writing! English is not my first language. Also, I really, really love comments <3
> 
> … Yesh. Until whenever, lovely readers! Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> (Why do I fail at short ANs?)


End file.
